


Rock Candy Mountain

by queeniegalore



Series: kink bingo [1]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Midnighter (Comics), Titans (Comics)
Genre: Blowjobs, Drug Use, M/M, Mistaken Identity, mistakes in general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 16:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9499991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeniegalore/pseuds/queeniegalore
Summary: Roy Harper definitely doesn't need saving, which is lucky because Midnighter is definitely not planning on being anyone's savior.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of drug addiction and drug use. Nothing too explicit. Mentions of prostitution.
> 
> I started a kink bingo square tonight and drew these two idiots and 'prostitution', which should have been a lot more straightforward than it was. No beta.

The kid is beautiful, skinny but hard all over with muscle, arms to die for, freckles covering every inch of his light skin. 

“I’m not a whore,” he says, lips swollen and cheekbones sharp enough to slice through steel.

“I don’t care,” M replies, and pulls him back in.

~

Roy is twenty two, and M is vaguely glad about that, because he knows that he probably wouldn’t care even if the kid was underage. 

Roy is twenty two and drowning in a sea of clubs and sticky sweet drinks and pills kissed into his mouth and oh, every now and then he tries to save the world.

“How’s that working out for ya?” M asks, and Roy, kneeling over M’s toilet, dirty strands of red hair sticking to his face and the back of his neck, flips him the bird.

M watches, a bottle of water in one hand, and wonders if he should call someone. Grayson or someone. “Come collect your shit,” he’d say. “You left your toothbrush at my apartment, and three odd socks, and now there’s this kid who looks like an angel and sucks dick like a fucking hoover and doesn’t know how to quit when he’s ahead.”

Roy retches again, and groans. M just wanted to get laid. He could have gone out and gotten it at literally any bar he walked into, he could have gone and paid for it with actual money, if he really felt like punishing himself. 

“Come on, kid,” he says instead. “You’re okay. Just.”

“Look, I’m probably not gonna suck your cock tonight but if you leave me alone for five minutes I swear I’ll get out your hair and leave you in peace soon,” Roy mutters miserably. 

M sighs. 

They’ve already done this too often.

“You can have the couch.”

~

“I’m not a whore,” the kid says, and M squints at him.

“Then why are you standing on a street corner wearing booty shorts and combat boots?”

The kid sighs aggressively. He has incredibly bad tattoos on each bicep, and his eyes are too big for his face. M tries to surreptitiously put his wallet back in his pocket.

“Because my best friend is an asshole and stranded me here and I’m waiting for a cab and I didn’t know this was, you know.” He shrugs awkwardly. “That kind of street.”

M runs a hand through his hair. He’d really kind of been looking forward to spending fifteen minutes getting his dick acquainted with the back of the guy’s throat, and now he’s feeling oddly irritated. A little embarrassed, a little put out.

“Well it is, and looking like that...the next guy might not be so polite as me, okay. So maybe you should-”

The kid smirks. “I think I can handle myself buddy.”

M raises a dubious eyebrow. “Yeah, okay. Whatever you say.”

Red Hair and Big Eyes scowls. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“I mean you look like fresh meat, you like like a fucking little bambi caught in traffic, you look like the literal platonic ideal of a rent boy, but yeah, sure, you can handle yourself.”

So that’s how M ends up getting punched in the face by Arsenal, and later, much later, Grayson will laugh and laugh and laugh, but whatever fuck Grayson anyway.

He does get his dick sucked that night, after all, while blood gently drips out of nose and runs down his neck. Roy knows his way around a fucking blowjob.

One day M needs to figure out what the fuck kind of training these Teen Titans get put through, because good goddamn.

~

Roy huddles on the end of M’s very nice leather couch, wrapped in a very nice cashmere throw, and sweats.

M rumbles past him in Superman boxers and heads to the coffee machine. One look at Roy’s face tells him food won’t be welcome yet, but coffee, coffee is always a beacon of hope.

“Get any sleep?”

Roy shrugs. “Little. Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t be. Next time I wanna get laid I’m definitely hauling you out of the club before the pharmaceuticals join the party, though.”

Roy winces, and M turns back towards the coffee.

He’d spent half the night texting Grayson, who couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Roy shouldn’t be popping pills. Roy shouldn’t be _drinking_. Roy shouldn’t be doing a lot of things that weren’t any of M’s fucking business, to be honest.

M isn’t there to be Roy’s therapist.

He dumps sugar into the mug until Roy grunts at him to stop, and brings it over.

Roy’s hands are steady as he takes it.

“You wanna talk?” M asks, reluctantly.

Roy snorts and shakes his head.

“Okay.”

They sit in silence for a while, sipping their coffee, looking at the clear blue day outside the windows.

Roy finishes his first and sets it down on the coffee table. Twists so he’s facing M, blanket falling down off one smooth, freckled, sculpted shoulder. Opens his mouth.

“You wanna fuck?” M jumps in, and Roy laughs in surprise.

“Oh,” he says. The blanket drops the rest of the way down. He’s in nothing but a little red pair of boxer briefs, hipbones jutting out, wiry abs on display. 

“Depends. Are you gonna be doin’ all the work?”

M grins. “Just lay back and think of Titan Tower, kiddo.”

Roy groans, but he looks happier, the start of a dimple popping in one cheek.

M can work with that. The physical stuff, yeah. Pecs chiselled from stone and a thigh hooking around his waist and pulling him in tight and close. A cock filling out those cute little boxer briefs, the smell of M’s shower gel sinking into Roy’s warm skin. Yeah, M can work with that.

Keep it physical. Keep it about the way the ends of Roy’s hair curl against his flushed cheeks, keep it about long eyelashes that brush the tops of those insane cheekbones when they flutter for him. Keep it about full, chapped lips that moan his name, keep it about the come smeared between them, keep it about his hand cradling Roy’s head as he slows his thrusts and they breathe together and he wants to come so bad and he wants to not fall in love even more and most of all he wants Roy to not need saving.

Keep it physical, and maybe they can both get out of it alive.

~

That first night, way back when, M comes down Roy’s throat then jerks him off hard and fast against a brick wall, Roy shivering a little from the cold, trying to subtly press himself into M’s coat. M offers to give him money for a cab.

“I’m not a whore.”

M rolls his eyes. 

“I don’t care.” He pulls the kid in tight, wraps him up in his leather. “Come home with me, then.”

Roy smiles.

“You’re gonna be such a bad idea.”

His eyes are too big for his face. M saw the scars on his arms, old and faded. Old, tell tale signs of track marks. Roy Harper, Arsenal. The kid hero everyone forgot about, the cautionary tale.

“I mean.” M tips his head down and kisses Roy hard and sweet, licks into the come-and-candy taste of his mouth. “Yeah, probably.”


End file.
